


Things we say, things we don't

by ksalterego



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, No Porn, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and one or two swearwords because i can't seem to write without them, which is NOT like me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 13:49:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ksalterego/pseuds/ksalterego
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the things Derek and Stiles DON'T say to each other</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things we say, things we don't

Derek stands on the porch, arms crossed, and watches the last of his pack leave.  When he can no longer hear their cars on the road he turns and goes inside, back into the warmth, back to Stiles, who is cleaning the kitchen.

Derek leans against the doorway and says, knowing Stiles would call this lurking or, even better, creeping, "You don't-" _I like it when you do_ "-have to do this."

\-----

Stiles jumps at Derek's voice behind him, fumbles and recovers a cheap, mismatched plate, and turns to lean against the counter, the plate flat against his chest.  "Dude, you are such a creeper-" _where were you, I wanted you beside me_ "-I can't believe you keep doing that and I'm going to hurt-" _kiss_ "-you one of these days."

\-----

Derek snorts at the thought of Stiles hurting him.  There are about a million ways Stiles could hurt him and not one of them is physical.  He says mildly, "You don't have to clean up-" _don't leave_ "-you know."

\-----

"I know-" _I couldn't not_ -Stiles answers.  "I've been doing this since-" _my mom died_ "-I was a kid.  It's kind of a habit-" _for my family_ "-by now."

He returns Derek's silent stare until Derek settles even heavier against the jamb.  "Dude-" _fucking hot, perfect, dammit_ "-what?"

\-----

Derek listens to Stile's suddenly escalating heartbeat, watches his cheeks slowly stain red, scents his desire rising in the warm kitchen.  "When do you have to-" _how long can you stay_ "-be home?"

\-----

"It's Friday plus my dad's working tonight-" _if I can't be with him, I want to be with you_ "-so-" _I'll leave when you kick me out_ "-not until late."

\-----

Derek asks, "Movie?"  At Stiles' nod, he says, "I'll see what time-" _how late_ "-something starts that we'd both like-" _I don't even care as long as it's with you_ "-to watch."

\-----

Stiles watches Derek leave the room.  His gaze settles absently on Derek's ass until it disappears into the living room, and that isn't even the best part of Derek.  Stiles hollers, "I'm not-" _I would if you wanted to_ "-watching 'The Notebook'-" _actually, no, I wouldn't watch that, but I'd watch anything else for you._

\-----

Derek rolls his eyes.  As if.

Stiles' favorite movies generally feature superheroes.  Derek finds them pointless and fascinating and they usually hit too close to home for him to truly enjoy them.  He waits until Stiles wanders out of the kitchen before asking, "Avengers or-" _please no_ "-Hulk?"

Stiles wrinkles his nose- _too fucking adorable_ -and comes to stand shoulder to shoulder with Derek.  He stares blankly at the TV until Derek nudges him with his shoulder.

\-----

Stiles pretends to stare at the TV while he does his best to imprint everything he possibly could about Derek in this moment.  He's learned that werewolves run hot, Derek even more so than Scott or Isaac.  He always finds it somehow reassuring when he feels it close to him, on his skin or through his clothes, a confirmation that Derek is alive in spite of his best efforts to sacrifice himself.  The jerk.

Derek bumps shoulders with him, a closer wave of heat and a point of contact; the scent of pine and scrub from the wolves' earlier run in the forest.

Stiles says, "Scroll right-" _how late can I get away with_ "-oh, how about 'Sherlock Holmes' at eleven-" _want to be near you_.

\-----

"Fine-" _oh thank heavens_ -Derek says with a put-upon sigh.  "Pick something else to watch until then-" _he's staying_ -then tosses the remote on the coffee table and flops casually in the middle of the couch.

\-----

Stiles grabs the remote and spends an inordinate amount of time considering what to watch for the next few hours.  He delays sitting.  The only easy chair in the room had been sacrificed to Scott and Isaac's play-fighting months ago, so the couch is it unless he wants to sit on the floor.  And Derek is stretched out in the middle of that couch, arms and legs thrown wide, slouched so low his butt is nearly off the front edge.

That seems to be Derek's favorite seat, and Derek has a tendency to not move out of the way, even during pack meetings, when the only seat left for Stiles is next to him on the couch. 

It causes...difficulties for Stiles.  He's pretty sure Derek knows he has the hots for him, but beyond that he doesn't have the slightest idea if Derek returns the sentiment – aside from his gut instinct that Derek does, but that's not nearly good enough for him to take a chance on.  And, he doesn't want to mess up a good thing.  As it is, he gets to spend time with Derek, which is a large portion of all he ever wants.

Stiles opts to sit on the floor, his back against the couch, next to Derek's outstretched leg.

\-----

Derek watches TV, his eyes glazing along with his brain.

Stiles' scent slowly settles into low-grade arousal, almost ignorable, overlain by the only slightly heavier scent of contentment.

It takes Derek nearly an hour to identify the scent, because he hasn't smelled _content_ since he was a teenager.  It's a shock when he finally realizes what it is, enough to make him freeze in place.

\-----

Stiles looks sideways when Derek's leg shifts minutely next to him, bumps into his shoulder, then he glances up.

Derek looks...surprised?  Startled?  Stiles can't quite figure it out, but it also looks somewhat wounded, until Derek notices he's looking and turns it all into a dark scowl.

Stiles rolls his eyes and turns back to the movie.

He waits, he bides his time, until Derek's body eases, until his knee presses lightly against Stiles' shoulder once again.  With a yawn and a space-taking stretch, Stiles settles back down with his head resting equally against the couch and Derek's knee.

\-----

Derek watches Stiles' stretch and wants, he _wants_ and he won't-

Stiles tilts his head against Derek's knee, settles back down with a deep, happy sigh.

Contrary to popular belief, Derek actually knows that there are times when he can't win, and so this time he gives in to the mind-numbing movie and lets his brain go completely blank.

\-----

Stiles has seen this movie, like, at least twelve times already so he lets his eyes close while he listens, lets his lips follow the script without bothering to actually vocalize the words.

Derek's knee is warm; it's hard, but he's sure there's a way for Stiles' head and Derek's knee to fit together like a puzzle piece, and not cause pain for either of them.  He just has to find it.

\-----

Derek wakes slowly.  The TV is not showing the movie they were watching, nor the movie they intended to watch.  He squints to focus, and sees that it's something approximating soft core horror like you might see on the late night/early morning programming of a local station.

He realizes, just as slowly as he wakes, that the soft bristle under his hand is Stiles' hair.  It feels good, as lightly textured as he'd always imagined, prickly and almost electric-feeling under his palm.

\-----

Stiles wakes to the unaccustomed weight of- oh wow- Derek's hand on his head.  He might also be drooling on Derek's jeans, so he closes his mouth quickly- too quickly, because his teeth clack and Derek's hand lifts.

"No-" _don't leave_.

\-----

Derek lifts his hand, slightly confused because Stiles didn't say 'stop', he said 'no', and no matter how much Stiles may verbally ramble, he's usually precise in what he says – once anyone can figure out what Stiles is actually saying.

\-----

Derek removes his hand and Stiles is crushed, if also confused.  No matter which way he spins it, it's an odd thing for Derek to be fine with touching Stiles while Stiles is sleeping.  As much as he accuses Derek of being a creeper, he'd actually have to report under oath that he habitually deliberately misinterprets Derek's actions that way because he wishes so hard it was true – that Derek wanted him enough to creep on him (ugh, too much Twilight in his life) - but Derek's _not_ a creeper and so there's really only one interpretation for what he'd been doing that Stiles can round up within fifteen seconds of awakening at three am.

\-----

Stiles jumps to his feet and sways.

Derek reaches to steady him; his hand lands on the inside of Stiles' knee, pressing their legs together.

"You okay-" _just napping, no enemies, we're safe_.

\-----

"I'm fine, I'm-" _please let this mean something_ "-okay."

\-----

Derek looses Stiles' leg and the kid just stands there, staring dazedly at him.

"You look-" _perfect, always perfect_ "-wiped out.  Sure you're okay-" _say 'no'_ "-to drive?"

Stiles shifts his weight on his feet, sleepy content drifting toward his usual baseline of arousal, hunger and curiosity.

\-----

Stiles stares down at Derek, those incredible light eyes heavy-lidded, normally downturned mouth relaxed into something that could conceivably be interpreted as ease, or comfort, or...want.

Or maybe Stiles is making things up.

"I'm okay-" _not lying, not lying_ "–to drive."  At Derek's snort, he adds, "Just need a-" _lifetime_ "-few minutes."

To his dismay, Derek's eyelids lower even more as he tilts sideways onto the couch.  Stiles steps back and watches silently as Derek kicks off his shoes and gets his feet up on the cushions.

Stiles absorbs the shape of Derek on the couch: knees bent, one foot curved over the other, shoulders and hips firm against the back, and a hand beneath his cheek.  When he finishes, when he reaches the pillow Derek has flattened under his hand, Derek is watching him back, eyes still half-mast but there's a glint of red-

\-----

There's no mistaking the shift in Stiles' scent, the still-sleepy arousal that drives out everything else.

And Derek is done, he's done with dancing around this, with waiting, with watching; with always watching and never having.

"You don't have to leave-" _stay_.

\-----

Stiles thinks, at first, that he's misheard; the Alpha eyes are usually correlated to harsh orders and supernatural violence.  But Derek's words, while phrased as a suggestion, are also tinged with Alpha command.  It's not anything Stiles ever has any compulsion to obey, but they both know he can hear it, and that he always knows what it means: it's Derek's line in the sand.

Derek _wants_ him to stay.

\-----

Stiles kicks off his shoes and shucks his hoodie – Derek has to believe that Stiles has contemplated the heat factor of sleeping or otherwise getting up next to a werewolf – and sits on the couch in the space between Derek's elbows and knees.

Stiles looks over uncertainly and Derek won't have that.  He sits up just enough to take Stiles by the back of the neck and tip him down.

Stiles mostly swallows a small noise as he falls, then he gets his feet up and tentatively sinks into the cushions.

\-----

Stiles grumbles, "Little spoon-" _fucking love this, please, please don't let this be some weird platonic werewolf thing._

\-----

Stiles makes discontented noises, so Derek puts his arm around Stiles' waist and pulls him flush – and maybe it's a little unexpected because Stiles swallows another small squeaking noise that makes Derek smile against the back of Stiles' neck.

"Hush-" _delicate human, tender human, breakable, fragile, courageous, tough, stubborn, relentless_ "-Stiles."

\-----

Stiles freezes.  Every part of the back of him is in contact with an Alpha werewolf.  The back of his neck - at the base of his skull - is the third (okay, fourth if you really want to go _there_ ) most vulnerable spot on his body and he can feel Derek's mouth pressed open over that spot.  He knows what that means for werewolves in general, and he's sure he can extrapolate what it means when an Alpha werewolf wants non-life-threatening access to the nape of Stiles' neck.

It isn't until Derek's tongue flicks out, heating and then cooling his skin, that he decides this _is_ what he thinks it is.

\-----

Derek says against Stiles' neck, "Stay-" _stay_.

\-----

Stiles says, "I'll stay-" _I'll stay_.


End file.
